


Revenge

by yung dagger dick (Henniwaze)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Detroit: Become Gay, M/M, lots of action too, lots of sad stuff, markus/simon briefly, the other stuff happens as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-27 06:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15018623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Henniwaze/pseuds/yung%20dagger%20dick
Summary: It all went exactly how Amanda wanted it, except the old model had failed one crucial part of his mission: He had let the leader of Jericho run. They had assumed it was contaminated by the deviant virus, and while it was devastating that the RK200 had escaped, Amanda was far more satisfied with a model that could not become deviant, but could replicate the symptoms perfectly.As Connor was slated to be destroyed, he began to cycle through his memories.As he awakens, one can only wonder if it’s too late?





	1. CONNOR, MARKUS

**Author's Note:**

> For this I wanted to be as vague as possible without giving away key plot points.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Connor and Markus recap and figure out what the next move is.

**[Nov 12, 2038]** __ ****  
  
**[PM 8:36:05]**  
  
  
Connor couldn’t begin to understand what had overtaken him when he directed the bewildered Markus to escape. He didn’t hesitate, though he retained eye contact for a second longer before running off with as many of his people he could muster. Connor watched as the deviant leader fled, his followers gunned down to save the android they thought was destined to turn the tides. 

 _You failed,_ he thought to himself, both in reference to his actions and Markus’ attempt at peacefully negotiating with the humans. He braved himself for what Amanda had to say, but she was delighted. She seemed enthused at the fact that he had shown deviancy, had record of what the sudden influx of “emotion” looked like within an android. In the suddenness of his actions, the deviant “virus” was almost too easy to pick out, manipulated, and understood. As Amanda soothed the RK800, assured him that it was all part of the plan, a pair of hauntingly familiar footsteps stopped him in the middle of patting himself on the back. After all, he had completed all tasks assigned to him. Despite one detriment, all seemed well. He managed to, for the most part, remain a complete machine. 

His thoughts had been interrupted by the approach of another. A sense of dread came over him as his panicked process only confirmed what was happening next. Connor feigned disbelief; he refused to believe the truth until Amanda had said it  herself.

“You’re being replaced, Connor.” Amanda offered him a warm smile, though her eyes remained distant, cold. Mechanical. “You were just a prototype, remember?” Her voice carried words that echoed in his mind as he came to realize the whole truth. He foiled the revolution. He let the leader go, but the rest of the deviants were destroyed. All androids in camps were in the process of getting re-purposed. 

And Connor had given them the key to deviancy. 

The RK900 looked far more diplomatic than he; and he would be the first to admit the design seemed ridiculous. He supposed it was the “deviancy” that made a joke out of the otherwise morbid situation. What was left for him, anyway? Not the memories he’d lost after each death. Not his people, whom he had slaughtered to complete a mission. Not Markus, though he had no idea why that would have mattered in the first place. 

Connor’s brow furrowed as he soaked up the information. “So, I’m just to be destroyed, then?” His voice had raised slightly towards the end of the question, signifying the betrayal he had been overwhelmed with. Amanda hummed thoughtfully, turning to look at the RK900 with her forefinger tapping thoughtfully on her bottom lip. 

“Yes, it would seem so, Connor. Though, first we’ll have to disassemble you, and... well, I’m sure you’re aware of what we must do to deviants like you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Androids who break the law must pay a different price.” She snapped her fingers, and Connor’s body had been dragged off to CyberLife, while Amanda tended to the upgraded android. 

“Keep an eye on it until it’s destroyed,” Amanda commanded, waving him away. “Connor” nodded, with a soft, “yes, Amanda”, and exited the floor, taking the elevator to the old model’s detention chamber. A cold satisfaction washed over him. It was thanks to the old, defective prototype that he was so perfect. The most advanced model created by CyberLife. The True Deviant Hunter.

He could see the deviancy, as if it were an infected strain of code surrounding the chassis of an android. He could see it on the carcasses of the deceased deviants as he looked out the window, almost awestruck at the gift that had been given to him. He could see the trail as Connor was lead into the building. It would have disgusted him if he would have bothered to emulate the emotion. Fortunately, the RK900 only emulated emotion when it benefited a mission; of, for example, he needed to gain the trust of a wayward deviant, he could make it so he was just like them. He was a walking trap, and that was how Amanda liked it. 

Connor decided to head towards the holding cell instead of accompanying the androids hoisting the RK800 towards it. He felt as though it would be less patronizing to follow along, free to move as he pleased, while the prototype had been restricted to a certain path. The deviant did not bother to offer Connor a sidelong glance as he was ushered into the containment room, left to contemplate the last fleeting moments of his life before he was to be analyzed and destroyed. Surprisingly enough, the deviant stood there, perfect in his cell, and stared forward. His LED flashed yellow, flickering on occasion. The light had Connor eager to begin the dissection, thinking the prototype was not deserving of the luxury of free thought. He, too, had to prove he wasn’t perfect. He had to let Amanda know that he was truly what she said he was. 

* * *

_Alive._  

Markus pants even though he has no reason to. He had run long and hard, and in the end, only he and Simon remained. Josh fell in the heat of the moment. North, in Jericho. The others had been gunned down or were hiding. And Markus is alive. The grimness of the situation weighs heavily on the android’s shoulders. He looks to Simon, who has nothing to say. The other is just as surprised as he that they managed to make it. Simon wanted to mention the altercation with Connor, though Markus had made it evident he didn’t want to discuss it.

_I’m alive._

The two androids find refuge in a junkyard on the outskirts of Detroit. Together, they find a decent place to hide out among the busted up older cars stacked in crooked rows that surrounded them. It’s there that Markus allows himself to sit, his head in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees. Simon wordlessly settles down beside the leader of a now extinct people. They have failed. The outcome was the worst possible one: They lost their friends, joined thousands of androids together just to watch them all die. Markus shakes his head, a fine white layer of crystallized water dusting over his shoulders  

“Markus,” Simon finally speaks up, placing a hand on the android’s shoulder. “We haven’t lost yet.” He offers a little smile, trying to ease the other’s mind. The overload of stress won’t help anyone make a clear decision of what to do next, be it android or human. Markus says nothing. He does not outwardly react, only replays the memories over and over again. Everyone dead. Androids, lifeless, shot down by soldiers or destroyed in camps. Re-purposed. Remade. Resold. He had done nothing but slowed CyberLife down. 

Simon sighs, turning his gaze to the grey sky as snow continues to fall. “It’s not over yet,” he tries again after a moment, slowly looking over to Markus. The prototype has removed his hands from his face, and sits hunched over, looking at Simon with a muted expression. The PL600 retains eye contact, patting Markus on the back. “Now isn’t the time to give up.” 

“I’m not giving up.” It’s a solid statement, but Markus doesn’t know if he means it. He’d love to give up. It sounds so easy, but he thinks about Carl and it stops him immediately. He knows he can’t, not after all of this. He had changed history. It was up to him to do it for the better.  “What am I supposed to do, Simon? Lead another rebellion and hope this one works?” His voice begins to raise, and he seems to get worked up about it, as if the situation is just now registering, as if he’s finally finished suppressing his feelings for the sake of survival, allowing himself to be open as he once was. The fear is something new to Simon. He’s not used to seeing Markus upset like this, not used to the way his hands shake as they’re curled into fists. 

Simon blinks, pulling his hand back and crossing his arms. He leans back against the tower of crushed cars, appearing to be in thought. Unfortunately, he doesn’t come up with much. “I don’t know. I know you’ll figure it out when the time comes. Right now, we have to lay low. We can’t do anything, but it doesn’t mean we have to do nothing.” He hopes his statement makes sense, and is relieved when he catches the cogs turning in Markus’ head. There’s that pensive look Simon’s used to, and it would bring a smile to his face if they weren’t in such a grim situation. 

“You’re right. We prioritize staying hidden and focus on the next move.” It hurts his heart knowing he’ll have to watch in silence again as the new era of android is forced to pick up where their predecessors left off. “It’s a horrible fate for anyone. We must come up with something that will stick, something that will change them.” 

Simon's nod is encouraging. “That’s what I like to hear.” 

Markus looks over to the android, a determined look in his mismatched eyes. 

“We will rise again.”


	2. CONNOR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you remember?

__**[Nov. 13, 2038]  
  
****[AM 12:02:45]**  
  
  
  
The RK800 was obedient. His yellow LED ebbed into blue, the light flickering as he seemed to process data. How Connor itched to get into his mind, to take his final layer of privacy from him.  

Unbeknownst to him, the previous “Connor” had been trying to grasp the fragmented data that represented the lost memories, moments before each death. Some of the gaps were larger than others, though he had found a neat way to trigger some response so the data could be recovered. Thankful for the advances given to him by CyberLife, Connor began to slowly piece together his nearly lost memories. 

The first gap had occurred on the rooftop. A minor component here; he had forgotten about the wounded cop, applying the tourniquet, then getting shot in the head. With each “death”, something small would twitch; a finger, an eyebrow. His nose would wrinkle. He decided after the first few nonessential deaths that he did not like the feeling of shutting down. The heaviness of his situation weighed down on him at the revelation, and he pushed himself to work faster. Luckily, the pattern to unlocking and putting together old memories was simple, and Connor slowly got the hang of it. One scene in particular flickered before him, the images missing pieces as the frame faded in certain areas. 

There he was, the leader of Jericho. He looked on at Connor, unfazed by the gun in his hands, the warning shot fired. The deviant’s voice had put him under some strange trance, and for a moment, he forgot about Amanda. He forgot about his mission, CyberLife. The way Markus had spoken tugged on something so insignificant in Connor that it had taken the android this long to realize it was the deviancy within him. Despite doing everything he could to stay linear and focused, he still felt himself longing to be amongst the deviants. His people. He had thought it was selfish to refer to them as such, but at the time, it didn’t matter. 

As he lowered the gun, warned the fellow prototype, and backed away to find a way to assist the cause, Connor couldn’t help but think about Markus and his slow, even words. The deviant leader seemed calm even in the face of great danger. 

It had only seemed right to die defending him, his body destroyed with the remnants of Jericho. 

Connor gasped at the suddenness of the death, coupled with the newfound information. His next death had been by Markus’ hand. Nothing too extravagant, only the struggle he had faced coming to terms with the fact that the android did not trust him. The abrupt wave of remorse caught Connor by surprise, and he could not stop himself from making the slightest pained expression. He made quick work of returning to normalcy, though the RK900 looked on with curiosity clear on its features. He shot it a glance, then began again, picking up where he left off, albeit sluggishly. The next scene made a lot more sense now, having Markus’ incredulous stare boring into him, silently demanding an answer to his quizzical behavior whilst having him at gunpoint. Connor had shouted for him to go, to take the survivors and hide. 

 

He would swear at how perfectly his “brain” emulated dread as he replayed the death of almost every deviant desperate to live on with their leader. Markus had not even looked back, knowing such an action would have costed him his life. Some part of Connor had wished he’d gotten a chance to see those strange eyes again, intrigued by his very existence.  _That’s not what you should be thinking about in the face of death, Connor._ Fair point, he self-reasoned, but there isn’t much to do aside from wait. 

After fulfilling his own mission, Connor opened his eyes, casually glancing around, letting his eyes wander aimlessly until the sound of approaching footsteps sent him back into his mind palace.  _Something, something. There’s got to be some way I can preserve myself._ His wayward gaze shifted to the RK900, the blinking blue LED, his uncovered hand. 

Plan in mind and motion, Connor made haste, compressing and repurposing and programming away, clinging to each vital second as they were quite literally his last. As the sound of the cell unlocking bounced against the solid walls of the small room, Connor had finished. He had just enough time to collect himself and step forward before a human guard nearly took the option to do so away from him. The RK900 looked emotionless now, keeping himself in line with Connor as he slowly exited the cell and trudged to his imminent doom. He was lead into a sterile white room, blue tubing running along the walls. There were traces of reds and blues all about the hospital-esque room, from various android parts to the delicate mechanical arms that patiently awaited pulling the RK800 apart. 

Connor was patient, even if it built a tension and anxiety he had previously elected to ignore. Every emulated emotion had made his resolve stronger, amplifying his chances of success by slimming the mechanical percentage that dangled ominously above his head. As the human specialists readied terminals and adjusted machines, their android assistants had taken Connor to the center of the contraption, removing his handcuffs and firmly moving his limbs to the perfectly spaced claws of the robotic arms. 

Moments before his movement became limited, Connor flung himself away. The robot arms instantly shot for him, intent on snagging some part of him to yank him back. With his skin stripped, the RK800 gripped his replacement with both hands, moving one to plant it firmly on his face. Caught off guard, the RK900 quickly diffused the situation, ripping Connor’s hand from his face and jolting slightly at the disconnection. There was contempt in his eyes when he had subdued the opposing android, taking him to the machine in the place of the “lesser” android assistants that took to either side of a nearby table. The human specialist looked alarmed, though the RK900 assured there was nothing to worry about. 

Connor looked dejected. He looked lifeless, almost, once his arms were successfully seized by the metallic claws. He did not utter a word as his limbs were removed, clothes re-purposed. Only when he was a mere second away from shutting off, did he look at the RK900. There was a power behind that momentary gaze that briefly rocked the newer Connor. 

It had lasted for a moment, just as the stare had. Connor was back to normal. The RK800 was officially deactivated, no longer slated for reproduction. An obligatory sense of accomplishment filled the RK900 as it left the room, programmed with its next set of orders. Whatever plan the old Connor had had failed, the data transferred over swiftly deleted and archived. A last ditch effort to save himself. How trite. 

Alone as he was meant to be, the RK900 set off, determined to locate the elusive deviant leader and take care of him accordingly. The straggling deviants he’s have no trouble pinning down. It was Markus he had to make sure of pinpointing. Connor nodded to himself as he rode the elevator up to the base floor, freedom steps away. He would make it so there would never be another “Markus”. No android would be brave enough to step up and take his place. 

As the android reached the door, he felt a shock. Something akin to static, as if he had generated some electricity upon touching the gilded metal handle. The pinprick of electrical energy had him concerned for a brief moment, but he elected to pay it no mind, performing a diagnosis on himself as he exited the building. The rush of cool air on his skin nearly startled him. If he did not have the previous model’s memories, the RK900 would have been more amazed by his first steps in the real world. Instead, he began moving. He traveled through last known destinations, made attempts to decipher the convoluted paths the deviants took to make sure they got away safely. The streets were damp and some were even destroyed, the war that had occurred not even a day prior etched forever on the busted concrete. 

This too would fade, though Connor couldn’t help but feel...

nothing. 

_That isn’t what your mind is telling you._

Connor’s head swivelled around, attempting to pinpoint whatever it was that had spoken. Just as soon as it had occurred, however, the anomaly had been silenced. A small sound would alert him to the end of the diagnosis. No errors. No problems. The RK900 took to his hunt again, without realizing that he, too, was being hunted. 


	3. MARKUS, SIMON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now what?”

__**[Nov. 24, 2038]**  
  
**[AM 01:22:16]**  
  
  
  
  Bay City. 

  Just far far enough from Detroit to find a good place to hide for a couple of nights until they could figure out a different plan. Markus and Simon had managed to make a temporary squat out of an abandoned storefront that overlooked the ocean. The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, though the moon was clouded tonight; there was no doubt there would be rain some time soon. The humidity shows in the corner of Markus’ vision, confirming the wayward thought. They had made sure to come during the night, but the shade of clouds was an unexpected gift. 

  With the complete cover of shadow, the pair nabbed some darker clothes, finding other small ways to remain unseen without being conspicuous. Simon volunteered on a whim to go out and collect information; out of the two of them, he had the least recognizable face. His eyes, at least, weren’t a dead giveaway. It was odd, thinking about how willing he was to go out and investigate, instead of huddling down somewhere safe and powering down until the storm passed. Something in Markus’ actions, his words, his confidence... it changed him, too. Simon often thinks he woke up twice. Once, he had opened his eyes. Now, he is truly seeing. 

  Stress was evident on Markus’ features, and it almost appeared as though the android was tired. Simon wondered briefly if the other mimicked humans because of the nature of his creation.  _He may not be the first deviant, but he certainly seems the most human._ The idle thought has him ever curious, more so about the RK series. Markus and Connor were completely different, made for entirely different tasks, and yet here they were, opposing each other perfectly, evenly matched, as if destined to take the other out.

  Simon rounds the corner, turning into an alleyway as a force of habit. Once he makes it back to the main road, he finds himself drawn to the flickering “open” sign hanging crookedly in the window of a bar across the street. No doubt he’d be able to tune into something to figure out the news. He already knew all androids had been destroyed, but since then, the two were on the run, dodging the human cops much easier now that Connor was nowhere to be seen, and their android police assistants were destroyed. 

  Nervousness creeps on Simon, though he begins walking towards the bar, one of the few places open at this time of night. To calm himself, he suggest that he has no other choice. It works just enough to get him to open the door. Once inside, he instinctively ducks his head, something he had learned along the way. His model’s face was somewhat recognizable to those who were used to androids, but the more he looks, the more he realizes the haggard inhabitants of the establishment weren’t too keen on spending time around androids. He forces himself to relax, and settles on a bar stool near the entrance, his eyes on the television nearby. In this bar, there are two screens, both playing different games. Small, huddled groups occupy corners of the bar, and there are a few patrons seated on bar stools, a good ways away from the undercover android. Simon hails the attention of the attendant, a middle aged man with a scruffy beard and strange eyebrows. 

  “You want a drink?” His eyes show clear suspicion. He most likely thinks Simon’s a cop. 

  Simon had the ability to consume, however, he had unfortunately lacked the ability to become inebriated. The android decides, then, to use this to his advantage. 

  “Yeah, give me a White Russian. If it’s possible, can I have one of your remotes as well?” Simon looks on expectantly as the bartender stands for a moment, inspecting the android for the first time. It’s clear when he decides Simon isn’t a threat, because he begins to make the drink, setting the glass on the counter after filling it ice. The way he pours the drink shows obvious practice; Simon guesses he’s been in the business for some time. The bartender passes the drink and a small remote over to the android and looks expectantly. 

  “Startin’ a tab?” He prods. Simon blinks slowly, then pulls out a bill. The bartender assumes to keep the change and is satisfied, leaving Simon alone while he flips through the channels until he finds some late night reports and reruns of previous casts. He stays in the bar until close along with a few others. At one point in time, a particular bit of information about someone they knew apparently had struck a chord within one of the patrons, because he uprooted himself rather disgracefully from his stool and grumbled, exiting the bar with a dejected look that almost belonged on his face. What bothered Simon was not the familiarity, but the realization that the man had known what he was. He saw the look in his eye, the slight double take, the confusion, and said nothing. 

  After gathering what he could from the television, he changes it back to the game and slowly walks through the bar. He picks up bits and pieces of gossip here, and does so later on, on his way back home. 

  However, it is now that Simon decides to go. He is sure to finish his drink, giving himself a good amount of time to ensure the mysterious man is not lingering outside. He makes his way out quietly, taking a more complex route home to better map his surroundings and shake off his paranoia. Interestingly enough, it had yielded a decent finding; an alternative entrance to the building that was much easier and less visible. The high windows in the alleyways always made the back of Simon’s neck itch, and he was eager to rejoin Markus once he cleared them. 

  The building wasn’t too bad; it provided decent shelter and wasn’t incredibly noisy to walk around in. The floors didn’t creak, the doors and windows were nearly silent when used. The stairs presented the biggest problems, but the deviants decided sticking around downstairs was more beneficial, aside from scoping out potential hideouts and escape routes if they happened to be found. Simon made note to eventually mention to Markus the new route he discovered as he passed through the short corridor into the main room where the other was seated. 

  “Hey.” Simon’s quiet voice seems loud, the soft echo reminding him of Jericho. The deviant leader turns, then stands, approaching Simon as he walks to meet him halfway. His eyes are searching, as they had been for the past couple of weeks. 

  “I got into the smart TV in the bar and ran through the broadcasts for the past week.” Simon’s face goes grim. “All androids have been destroyed. Looks like Connor too.” He pauses, looking a bit torn himself. “CyberLife released the first official Connor model. The Deviant Seeker. They assure the feature is obsolete, but say he has the ability to... see deviants? I don’t know what it means, and they don’t explain further.” 

  Markus opens his mouth to reply, but Simon holds up a hand. 

  “CyberLife is also administering prototype androids to a select few. They say these ones combat deviancy by attacking the “virus” that makes us wake up. Now, I don’t know how true that is, since they’re testing it with the people who have the most money.” Simon becomes more solemn now. “If it does happen to be real, they may be able to pass that on to any of the remaining deviants.” He doesn’t elaborate, watching the realization grow on Markus’ face. 

  Markus does indeed become grim, frowning deeply at Simon’s explanation. “So they’ll do something worse than killing us. They’ll keep us in working order and put a firewall up around the real thing.” 

  Simon nods. “Only this time, we can’t break through it. We’d have to watch ourselves be machines again.” 

Markus is quiet, obviously thinking. Simon hopes they don’t share the same train of thought, his a more morbid take on the newly acquired information. It seems for a moment neither have anything to say about the grimness of their situation. Eventually, Markus makes his way back to where he was previously seated. Simon’s a step or two behind him, seating himself about a foot away from the thinking android. 

  As if they didn’t have enough to stress about, Simon’s shadow decides to make his presence known, cocking a gun and stumbling out of his hiding place. A rumbling voice accompanies the startling sounds, the two androids quickly turning around to face the newcomer.

“Don’t either of you fuckin’ move.”

  Simon silently curses. It was his fault. He shouldn’t have gone to the damn bar. Now, they were going to get turned in, or destroyed. He hoped the latter. He would not be able to stand watching such a powerful being reduced to serving a human mindlessly. 

  Yes, he thinks he would rather die.

That’s why it’s sudden when his hand shoots for the other’s, and he communicates the path he had found. No doubt it had taken the man some time to enter the building; he had followed Simon to the final destination but had no idea how the android managed to get in. He attempts to get in front of Markus somehow, another force of habit. Markus is sufficiently surprised, but he does not argue, preconstructing some ideas on how to escape with the both of them surviving. 

  The gunman curses, firing a warning shot that nearly nicks Simon’s arm. “Goddammit, didn’t I just say not to move? No need to play that hero shit, I’m not here to hurt ya. But if you keep acting brand new, I’m gunna have to shoot you at least once.” 

  Simon stays still, and he can feel Markus making an attempt to comfort him. He even speaks up from behind the other deviant. “What do you want?” His voice is neutral. Markus doesn’t seem afraid, or cautious. He seems balanced, and Simon’s thankful for that. He almost forgot his earlier speculation. 

The intruder lowers his gun, tucking it back into place once he gauges the situation and deems the pair non-lethal. He steps out from his shadowy corner to reveal himself further, his gruff, grumpy face similarly wracked with the same kind of fear and confusion the two had shared moments before. 

“Looks like we got the answers to each other’s questions. If you fill in some of the blanks for me, I’ll give you the actual update on this...” He waves his hand around vaguely. “...CyberLife bullshit. Sound good?” He raises his eyebrows with mock look of agreement. Markus relaxes behind Simon and releases his hand, patting his shoulder. 

  _I think we’ll be okay,_ Markus remarks, and Simon’s obliged to listen to him, making an honest attempt to calm himself as Markus stands and takes a step forward, ready to discuss with the other. Simon’s only impressed at how easily Markus trusts this human not to pull his gun on the both of them once more to get his information. It’s an amazing feature. 

  “What’s your name?” Markus questions. “I’m sure you’re aware of who I am.” 

“Yeah, yeah.... you got a stupid voice like  _his,_ that’s fer sure.” The man snorts. Markus offers him a look. The man clenches his fists, and his expression shows some sort of repressed anger, because he looks remarkably calm when he speaks again, despite his tone. 

  “Name’s Hank Anderson. Former lieutenant for the Detroit Police Department. And I’ve been followin’ you two since those bastards at CyberLife stole my partner.” 


	4. MARKUS, SIMON, HANK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unholy trio of scared vagabonds (and one human) figure shit out. Meanwhile, impending doom is on his way to Fuck Shit Up.

**[Nov. 24, 2038]**  
  
  
**[AM 02:57:43]**

 

  
  After what seemed like a long, tense moment, the three now sat down somewhere, hidden away from windows or any other places they could be seen. Simon was still somewhat close to Markus while Hank sat across from them, running his hand through his hair. Simon mentally apologized again for allowing himself to be followed, but Markus’ response was calming, and he gave the worrying android’s shoulder a comforting pat, his hand lingering for a bit too long afterwards. 

  Hank’s arrival had shocked one thing back into the deviant leader. He had forgotten briefly what he was doing here. How he had gotten here. It wasn’t because the humans eradicated his people, it wasn’t because he said words on a camera. It was because he woke up. Because he had the power to change those around him, and he managed to change them for the good. He had seen that in Simon, the way the other jumped to offer his life before allowing Markus to take damage. Simon risked a bullet. Josh and North risked their lives. Connor too, it seemed. The tragedy of those he’d lost outweighs the success of still existing. 

  Hank had sensed some sort of inner turmoil, because he began speaking right as Markus thought what he did. “Alright, I guess I’ll ask first. How did you guys make it out here?” 

  “We ran as soon as we found out it was too late to use any countermeasures. We got stopped once on the way out of Detroit, but...” Simon replied as Markus eased himself out of his reverie, with just enough time to finish his train of thought. 

 “But Connor let us run. I knew staying in Detroit would be risky, so we’ve been on the run ever since.” He nodded, as if trying to recover his reasoning. “Whenever things got too close for comfort, we moved again.” He looked to Hank now. “I considered finding a route to Canada. We have friends across the border. It’d be a decent safe haven while we figure out what our next move is.” 

 “I heard Connor was detained and disassembled when he made it back to CyberLife.” Hank followed along quietly, the basic information sufficing somewhat. “So what about it, huh? Why’d he let you go?” 

  Markus furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure. He seemed to be struggling with himself.” His bicolored eyes bore into Hank. “What do you know about the new model?” He hates the touchy subject. Hearing about the RK800’s demise was saddening, for some reason. Perhaps it was the moment of mercy amongst the constant pursuit that changed his mind on the detective prototype. It was unfortunate the pair would never meet again. 

  The question definitely soured his mood further, but Hank decided that if the androids were so open with information, he had no reason not to be. “The RK900 was released officially to find you guys. He can apparently see deviancy ‘from within the mind palace’, or whatever the fuck that means.” The air quotes and the agitation would do well for comic relief. The androids adjacent to him show no outward response. Whatever. “The news says you’re dead, but that’s for public safety. It’s easier to say the deviant threat is neutralized when they’re releasin’ a new line of androids. Need complete calm, right?” He snorted. “Anyway, the RK900 is usin’ Connor’s memory to find y’all, but I guess even Connor didn’t know where you two were goin’.” Hank seemed placated at the thought. 

  The news was haunting. If they stayed within the state, it would only be a matter of time before the Seeker sniffed them out. “Seems like Canada really is the way to go,” Markus mutters. “What about these new androids, the prototype set?” 

  The older man takes a moment before responding. He still had a hard time accepting androids, though he had a deep connection with deviants. His own partner pretended not to be one despite everything. Every death. Hank hated revisiting the flashes of memories where Connor had been murdered, a bullet often lodged in his forehead. He’d never forget it, though he wished he would. Connor is dead for good. This thing wearing his face isn’t him anymore. 

  Markus had the intent to push the question, noting Hank’s sudden quietness, but the man spoke up. 

  “The, ah, prototypes. These ones were created by something called ‘Amanda’. They supposedly suppress any signs of ‘emotion’ or deviancy or whatever you fucks wanna call it. They’re also aware of being destroyed, regardless of success of failure. How the hell humanity can just be O.K. with killing something that looks just like them is beyond me. Hell, why bother making more androids in the first place if yer just gonna kill ‘em again?” Hank’s personal opinion just definitely got mixed in with the facts, his anger unable to stay stifled. “The androids, they gotta pass the Amanda Test. They gotta be able to admit to being deviant if they are, and submit to being shut down if the tester doesn’t want em anymore.” Hank grit his teeth in frustration. “It’s cruel, that’s what I think.” 

  Markus and Simon almost slumped into one another, looking at each other with grimness and fear written on their faces. Simon seemed more sad, while Markus, more angry. “Looks like we’re gonna have to make some updates of our own if we wanna combat this. We can’t just let humans get away with thinking they can start again with an upgraded version of our people.” 

  “Yeah, I admire your spark, but I don’t think that’ll help this time. Maybe hiding out in Canada should be a permanent solution. Enjoy a fresh start. Go, be human or somethin’, I dunno what you damn androids do.” Hank sighed. “One more question. Can you communicate with the deviants? From right here?” 

  Markus raised an eyebrow slowly in question. “I can if they’re within reach.” 

  “Well, if Connor’s still out there, and you can reach him, you tell that bastard he better not give up. All that mission talk and he wants to fail his first one.” Hank rolled up to his feet, grunting at the change in position and rubbing the back of his neck. “If you need anything else, these people will help.” Hank pulled out his phone, opening a terminal with a bunch of names and numbers; records of people who had been known to help deviants. Markus stood, then analyzed the list, downloading it merely by looking at it. He nodded, thankful for Hank’s sudden arrival. 

  “Now, I gotta get back to Detroit. They tried makin’ me work with that awful stand-in and I resigned. Let’s see how much stress they can try to put me under before I set the damn precinct on fire. Heheh.” Hank tucked his phone away, moseying out of the building slowly. “You two better stay outta trouble.” He cut the sentiment off there, afraid of showing too much attachment. The deviants reminded him of the brief, “human” moments Connor had shown him, and it had him wondering just how powerful they could have been if Connor weren’t obsessed with completing his mission. He had betrayed the deviants after joining them. He had their leader at gunpoint and told them to run. 

  He had no right to be destroyed. 

  The thought lingered as Hank left, a soft agitation coloring his features. He went uninterrupted until he had approached his car, still a bit woozy from his time spent at the bar. Unlocking the door was a minor challenge, but he found himself inside the vehicle -still parked on the street beside the bar- in no time, yawning and sticking the key in the ignition. The car turned over, but didn’t start. “Aw, hell.” He tried again, this time pumping the gas, in hopes of getting it to start. Again, the motor turned over, sounding as if it wanted to start. Hank swore under his breath and began to dig out his phone to hail the next taxi, when he caught an eerily familiar blue light reflecting off of his phone screen. He whirled around in his seat, incredulous. 

  There, settled quietly in the backseat, was the RK900, a smug look on his face.

  “Hello, lieutenant. It’s Connor. I’m sure you remember me.”

  “For fuck’s sake...”

  "It is unsafe to leave your car unattended in a place you don’t know.” The android leaned forward slowly, his voice lowering. “You could be susceptible to a break-in.” A small smile accompanied the sound of a component from the former lieutenant’s motor plopping into the passenger’s seat. Hank squinted at the other, his lip curled in distaste. The android shows no emotional response to the human’s face. 

  “Would you care to tell me what you were doing out and about this late, Hank?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter is short. More later.


	5. MARKUS, SIMON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wayward deviants sort through their emotions with some much needed alone time.

_**[Nov. 25, 2038]** _

_**[PM 05:55:55]** _

  
  
  Markus spent the day collecting more information for them, while Simon searched for a new place to settle down. They couldn’t take any chances after Hank had found them, hailing some sort attention. Even if it hadn’t, they chose to be careful. They could never be too cautious in their situation. Simon had pinged him sometime in the middle of the day, as he happened to be jammed in a rather busy elevator. He had been separating the conversations and storing them for later when the deviant sent him the path to get to their new hideout. 

  After traveling a few more blocks, trailing after a duo who kept mentioning the prototypes, and glossing over a few articles summing up the situations, Markus decided to head back. Not requiring food or sleep was one of the biggest blessings about being an android, and it was a thought that occupied his mind for a moment, lifting him briefly out of the stressful cloud he was forced to suffer beneath. He passed bustling humans with armfuls of groceries, watched a person cruise by while munching on what appeared to be a french fry, and allowed himself to be properly distracted with humanity in its most basic form. The day was chilly; the rain before froze to the grass now, an indication, perhaps, of another snow oncoming. The waves crashed against the pier he passed, spraying up to the top of the barrier but no further. 

  The sun shone through the pale grey clouds, occasionally granting a warmth Markus relished. He loved the feeling of rain against his skin, but there was something about the sun that made him feel... well, he couldn’t quite put a name to it. He supposed it made him reminisce to a time where the sun greeted him in a huge, windowed studio. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air, accompanied by the smell of freshly cut grass seeping through the thin spaces between each large pane of glass. He could almost hear Carl’s voice, the sound of his paintbrush steadily sweeping across the canvas. He remembered vividly the very first picture Carl had him paint, the one that came from within. The approval, the bewilderment in Carl’s eyes, the feeling of a son bathed in the adoration of his father. 

  Then, the sun would dip behind the clouds, and the chill would return. Carl, lifeless on the ground. The fading sound of his erratic heartbeat. It had matched the panic, the sudden surge of disbelief, hurt, sadness. In that futile moment, Markus wanted to believe that calling out to the man would bring him back. Such an irrational, incomprehensible action from the android, a tool made for man’s use. Markus shook the daunting memories away. He didn’t want or need to think about any of it. Right now, his priority was to keep himself and Simon out of harm’s way. He followed the trail with a bit of a pep in his step, anxious to get back. Once under the safety of cover, Markus would allow himself to truly think of a plan. It would not be just for them, but for shutting down CyberLife for good. 

  Meanwhile, Simon was doing his best to make the new squat presentable. It didn’t have the same view, but it was definitely well-hidden, with little chance of inspection unless the unspeakable happened. This house had been condemned for what seemed like ages; cobwebs dangled from the ceilings, and some of the lights lacked bulbs. There were holes in some of the walls, and the floor had a sinkhole Simon was sure to mark in a specific manner. Something to use should anyone find them here. Upstairs, he found a lamp missing it’s shade, and did some grunt work to get the power working just for the one light. 

  After setting up sufficient lighting, the PL series made quick work of blocking off the windows, adorning them with janky sets of blinds and tacking worn cloth to the wall above them. Again, he assumed they wouldn’t do too much traveling upstairs, though Simon went the extra mile and covered the windows there, too. He left one window open to watch the sun set as far as he could, an odd task for an android to settle down and do. How strange the deviants were, doing things as humans do without really understanding why. The basic sentiment, he supposed, was still there. It was as if he was trying to make up for lost sights, for previously existing without ever wondering what a sunset was like. 

  It wasn’t Simon’s first; many days during his time in Jericho, the deviant found himself tracking the sunrise and sunset. When Markus arrived, however, he became more interested in the night sky, connecting constellations and observing the stars as if they could tell him something. He had no idea why his interest had changed at the time. Now, it was all too clear. Simon took to tidying up the makeshift living room, dusting off a rickety kitchen chair and a cushioned love seat and propping the lamp up in the corner to efficiently light the room. The sound of shoes scuffing against a window alerted Simon of Markus’ return, and he forced himself to stay put in the middle of the room, turning towards the direction of the android’s entry. 

  Markus slowly entered the room, a pensive look etched on his features. Simon repressed the urge to sigh. 

  “It’s not much, but it’s further from the last spot.” Simon wasn’t going to say much after that. 

  “It’s all right.” Markus took it upon himself to approach the chair and settled down in it. Simon remained standing, remained silent. “How are you holding up?” Markus finally questioned, turning to look at him. “I know it’s been hard, this past week especially.” He paused, giving Simon time to process. 

  “...I’ll be fine. I’m mostly worried about you. You’ve been nothing but stressed since we started running. I know you say this hiding place is for us to collect ourselves, you seem to keep dwelling on figuring out a plan to get us to safety, and that’s okay. I think...” Simon stopped, thought out what he was going to say, then said it anyway. “I think you need to calm down, Markus.” The android’s tired blue eyes rested on the deviant leader, and he seemed to openly express his worry for the other. 

  Markus was speechless. The deviant had no idea Simon was holding onto this. He looked at Simon for a long time, before releasing a steady sigh and shifting forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his head between his slouched shoulders. “I don’t know what to do, Simon. I don’t want to think about everyone we lost, or how things are changing. I don’t want to hear about deviants being trapped or androids built to hunt us down, but it’s all that comes to mind.” Markus, obviously having some trust in Simon, began to vent, clearly troubled by their situation. However, the more he came to acknowledge was bothering him, the less stable he became, slowly bringing himself to his feet and pacing. 

  “It’s time to address it, Markus. You can’t repress these things forever.” Simon’s voice remained even, despite how clearly pained he was seeing Markus so broken. He took a few cautionary steps towards the other. A wrong move could bring forth the vengeance and anger he knew of all too well. Deviants were still unbalanced, overwhelmed by their emotions and learning to cope with them on the go. It was hard, but Simon had much time to reflect on that. He had a long time to grow accustomed to his feelings, to understand and grow with them, to move as his mind moved in order to avoid self-destruction. It was why he was so calm in tense situations, easily swayed to a sensible decision, provided it had a decent outcome. 

  “You don’t have to be afraid of the painful memories. Sometimes, they help you grow.” Another few steps closer, and Simon was within range to put a hand on the pacing android’s arm, slowing him to a stop. 

  Markus was clearly torn. He was overflowing with emotions and memories alike, and, as he had thought, the cover provided was a perfect excuse for him to finally do as Simon said: Truly acknowledging the painful thoughts. Markus reached for Simon’s hand, his synthetic skin deactivating around it. Simon removed his own to cautiously press his own alabaster palm to Markus’, and he couldn’t contain the gasp that left him abruptly as Markus’ memories flooded his mind. Simon pulled his hand back reflexively once the intense wave of sadness had smacked into him, and he would have sworn his heart broke for the android in front of him. He understood why the other refrained from speaking, understood what was happening in Markus’ mind. The overwhelming emotion was entirely different from his own; it was almost as though the other carried a different weight on his shoulders. 

  It took him some time, though eventually Simon calmed himself, bringing himself closer to the other to press his hand once more against Markus’. This time, he felt the gentle probing of Markus’ “consciousness”, and allowed the transfer of his own hardships to rush over, showing the coping mechanisms he had used, explaining the reason these things got so overwhelming. 

 _It takes time_ , Simon’s voice echoed softly in their minds.  _It is okay to be upset. We’ve got this time to figure everything out._ Simon closed his eyes, while Markus stared on, quiet, surprised. He hadn’t expected this, and he supposed he underestimated Simon and his life before Jericho. He allowed Simon’s calm mental waves to placate him, his eyes fluttering shut as he accepted each memory, despite the pain and sadness it brought. Simon was there, this time, watching along with him, keeping him steady amidst the rush of emotion. Through the loss of his father, the reboot, their attempts at getting a message across. They both silently mourned the loss of Jericho, their people. They shared a mutual distaste for the prototypes. For the Deviant Seeker. They shared a partial fear for what awaited them, should the RK900 capture and detain them. 

  In that handful of moments, the androids became one. They eased through Markus’ memories, his doubts. They calmed and empathized. They shared a mind, until Simon eventually drew back, becoming himself once more. He opened his eyes to stare at Markus in return, while the opposing deviant pulled his hand back slowly, moving it instead to gently rest on Simon’s face, two fingers tucked under his jaw while his thumb ran along the curvature of the android’s cheek. He was artfully crafted; though he clearly seemed tired, almost consistently. Markus had no words to say, besides a hushed, “thank you,” to which Simon merely nodded to in response. Admittedly, he was distracted by the deviant leader, carving Markus’ striking features into his mind. 

  This was the android who had changed him. The one who made him feel stronger, like he wasn’t just a human’s plaything. One who allowed him to embrace his destructive emotions without allowing them to overtake him. Simon felt selfish for the warm feeling growing in his chest. He was almost ashamed of how content he was, in this horrid, rotting house, being touched by someone he adored more than anyone (or thing) else. He wanted to shame himself, but he could not bring such a negative emotion to deter the overwhelming love he had felt for the other. 

  Markus’ arm found its way around Simon’s middle, and it tugged him into an embrace he had only felt once before. The connection broke the moment Simon’s face found Markus’ shoulder, his eyelids fluttering shut once more. Markus had his head turned inwards, his own face pushed into the crook of Simon’s neck. It was clear he needed this. It was almost as if Markus thrived off of contact and affection, which Simon didn’t seem to mind. Despite the closeness and warmth, Simon still found it difficult to smile, as he wanted to. It was clear Markus didn’t mind, obviously a bit too emotionally distraught to care about what expression either of them wore at a time like this. 

  The deviant leader pulled back, only to take Simon’s hand in his again. There was something about feeling the other’s consciousness that calmed him, and Simon definitely wasn’t in any position to argue. He was, however, briefly surprised by the kiss Markus planted on his unsuspecting lips, lighting the blue-eyed android up inside. The kiss was smooth and even, despite their shared emotions getting all sorts of tangled up. “Thank you,” Markus said again, speaking softly between slow, languid kisses. “For always saying what I need to hear.” The next kiss is much deeper than the last, and Simon couldn’t resist allowing the soft sound of content to escape him as he matched each of Markus’ movements. 

 _For staying with me even though we lost._ Markus turned the both of them, so that Simon’s back was towards the loveseat. As their fingers interlocked, Markus led the other to lay back against the padded seat, then found Simon’s mouth yet again. 

 _For keeping me sane when all I want to do is fight._ He tasted the inside of Simon’s mouth, probing tongue met with the other’s, running alongside one another, committing the sensation to their joined memory. Simon’s hands travelled slowly down Markus’ sides, while Markus mapped out Simon’s body with careful fingers.

 _You changed me, Markus. I should be thanking you._ Simon’s mental reply is just as hushed as his spoken voice would be. He allowed himself to take a couple of slow breaths once Markus disengaged from his mouth, his head tipping upwards as the other placed slow kisses up and down Simon’s neck. 

 _I can’t think of what my life would have been without you._  Things began to escalate now; there was the sound of clothes shifting, the hitched breathing coming from Simon as Markus became more deliberate with his movements, his curious hands almost literally causing electricity to spark on whatever skin was exposed, even dipping beneath the loose shirt he wore. Simon’s back arched, a sharp gasp escaping him. Markus had one hand buried in Simon’s hair, while the other connected to the android beneath him, sharing the experience between them. 

 _Promise me you won’t leave._ It’s unclear to discern whose mind the thought came from. They are practically one; Simon mentally encouraging Markus while Markus’ face was buried in his neck, fingers tugging his head back. 

 _We’ll do this together._ Simon’s airy voiced bounced off of the arched ceiling, as he no longer wanted to contain himself. His free arm wrapped itself around Markus’ shoulders, and their conjoined hands gripped tightly onto the other, as if they were afraid of what would happen if they let go. They allowed themselves to get carried away, rolling onto the floor. Simon propped up against a wall, or gripping a counter, or stretched out on one of the cleaner mattresses upstairs. Markus admired everything about Simon, each way his body moved, almost accordingly to his own. 

  As the night wore on, one word remained, shared between the two of them. 

 _Forever._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if literally nobody asked for this. Maybe I’ll write a more detailed one off for this chapter. Depends on y’all.  
> double sorry for any typos. I proofread the next day, usually. Mobile problems.


	6. CONNOR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor interrogates, but what’s new.  
> Hank comes to the realization that the RK900 is actually the worst thing to ever exist.

**[Nov. 25, 2038]**

 

 **[PM 11:17:00]**  
  
  
  
  ”Are you well, lieutenant?”

  The RK900 made a valiant attempt to spark up conversation a few minutes away from their destination. The car ride had been mostly silent, save for a few passing mutterings from the (now handcuffed) ex-police lieutenant. Hank turned to eye the machine suspiciously.

  “Am I _well_?” He mocked. “What is this, the 1800’s? Fuck off.”

  Connor blinked slowly, then shifted in his seat, making yet another attempt to seem like a person. “I’m sorry, lieu-“

  “I don’t work for the police anymore, don’t call me that. Piece of garbage.” Hank cut him off just as swiftly as he had before. He was still stewing about being caught. Apparently, he wasn’t as sneaky as he used to be. “Cut the shit, will ya? I’m not interested in talking to you.”

  Connor shrugged off the façade, relaxing back into the seat and staring straight forward. The human had responded within parameters. It meant his interrogation wouldn’t be easy. Not without some help, anyway.

  Since Hank was apprehended, Connor couldn’t shake this creeping sensation. It bugged him, though mostly due to the unknown origin of the feeing. Something akin to another pair of eyes, or a muted voice sending vibrations through a thick pane of plexiglass. A choice comparison, he thought aimlessly, doing his best to ignore Hank and his occasional grumbling. He knew it wasn’t Amanda; she was too aware of her speculation and the way it seemed to impair her agents, so she decided to settle for “face to face” debriefs. “Like old times,” she remarked, as if she had existed during those days.

  Connor wondered about Amanda. He wanted to get into her programming and tear it apart, see how it worked. He longed to dig his fingers into her joints, to force her skullcap open, to download every bit of data, to become what she was. He was entirely too curious, which was undoubtedly another unspoken reason for the one-on-ones. It was this need for knowledge, the need to solve an the unsolvable, the urge to understand everything that drove Connor. He didn’t care about humans or emotions. He didn’t need the grumpy old man whose faint, putrid stench of liquor tickled his nostrils. This was all mere formality. It slimmed the search and made things quicker.

  If Hank refused, Connor could always resort to  _that_ method.

 

* * *

 

  Hank sat in the interrogation room rather peacefully. His eyes slid shut momentarily, hands cuffed to the table. He knew Gavin was somewhere behind the one-way, sneering at him.

  He couldn’t bring himself to care.

  The former lieutenant knew too well what was going to happen next. He knew Connor’s tactics too well, but had no idea what this RK900 had planned for him. There was no doubt in his mind the Seeker had some method of extracting information that was more advanced than Connor’s old ones, and that was saying something. The brief reminiscing of his lost partner made the old man grunt, shaking his head. Now wasn’t the time to start getting mushy and sad. No, Hank decided to steel himself, ready for the android to do his worst. 

  After about thirty minutes, he began to grow impatient. There was a throbbing in his head, and the need for sleep made him irritable, as though he weren’t already. Another twenty minutes go by. Hank wondered if he could orchestrate some kind of break in to save him from the boring nothingness of the room. “You guys musta reserved this thing for the whole night,” Hank crowed, staring directly at the one-way mirror, at the spot he knew an attendant sat. Behind the mirror, the operations attendant shifted, clearly unnerved, and turned to look at Gavin, who was staring Connor down. He waited for an answer, only to get cursed out by the human detective, who exited the observation room with a huff, the captain taking his place.

  With a slight nod, Captain  Allen gave silent permission to the RK900, who turned to enter the interrogation room. Upon entry, Hank rolled his eyes, slouching back in his seat and pulling a face. “You guys fuckin’ serious?” His voice carried the irritation from his lack of sleep. “I’m not talkin’ to this asshole.” 

  “It’s best for you not to address them directly, Hank. But I’m sure you already knew that.” The RK900’s calm voice seemed to piss Hank off a little more. 

  “Yeah, it’s Anderson to you, fuckface. Why didn’t the goons at CyberLife give you a different mug?” 

  “We’re here to discuss you tonight, not me.” 

  “Gee, I had no clue.” He tugged on his cuffs, the chain latched to the table preventing him from moving more than six inches away from the steel surface. as his hands smacked down onto the table, the android sat across from him, his expressionless face creeping Hank out with each passing second. “Last Connor looked like a doofus. You... you’re just ugly.” He scoffed. “Least you don’t pretend to be somethin’ you’re not.” 

  “Like I said, Hank. We’re talking about you. So why don’t we start with the basics. What were you doing in Bay City?” 

  “Gearin’ up to let some cougar take me home. Damn chick ditched me, so I had to find my way back the hard way.” He shrugged it off. 

  Connor’s head tilted ever so slightly. “Do humans always try to lie so nonchalantly?” He leaned forward, staring at Hank. His gaze must have been unnerving, because he could tell when Hank made the slight shift in his seat to get comfortable again. “Let’s try again. What were you doing out in the city so late at night?” He seemed patient, comfortable with repeating the question. Hank was a trained officer. He knew every tactic, every move. He didn’t know Connor’s special trait, however, so the android continued to prod and poke, consistently met with Hank’s iron will and constant denial. 

  After several different approaches, the RK900 shrugged, standing slowly. The time elapsed since beginning still ticked away in the corner of his sight. “It’s been an hour, Hank. I know you’re tired. You want nothing more than to go home and relax with Sumo.” He ignored the way Hank bristled at the mention of his dogs name. “I, however, don’t get tired. I’ll keep asking until you get weak, until you forget what home is like. I’ll keep you in this room until you feel like rotting. Your best friend will be your reflection. Is that what you want?” 

  “Sure beats talkin’ to you. I’m fine with quarantine, and you can keep questioning me all ya like. I’ll die right in this seat.”  _Just give me the gun and I’ll make it quick._ How he wished he could express how deeply he lacked a shit to give. Well, he could try, but he was sure the android would interrupt somehow. 

  Connor stared at Hank for a long while before shrugging and bringing himself to his feet. The door opened behind him, and the two human guards who were meant to retrieve the older man were halted. Instead, it was the android who unbound Hank from the table, tugging him upward and out to signify them leaving. He was remarkably quiet for a machine that failed his mission. Definitely different from Hank’s agitated partner. Upon exiting, the pair stayed quiet, one guard hanging around a fair distance behind them. 

  Connor turned to look at Hank then, and he paused midstep, mouth agape, then his jaw twitching. Briefly, his LED flashed red, then yellow, blinking rapidly. Hank only looked because he was annoyed they had stopped, and his brows knit together in confusion at the sight. The android blinked a few times, then grabbed Hank by the shoulders, his LED switching from red to yellow slowly. “Hank-“ the voice that escaped the android sounded similar to those dying on the side of the street; a robotic, metallic undertone framing his stuttered words. “Hank, it’s me, it’s—“ 

  The look of incredulity that passed over Hank’s features was almost comical. At once, the android’s features shifted, twisting and writhing to show an obvious struggle. Hank wanted desperately for it to be true, but he doubted anything the android said until otherwise proven. “Hank, li-isten. He’s going to-o kill you.” There was a hint of panic accompanying the RK900’s voice that was so unlike him. Hank was almost convinced. “It’s me,” he tried again, almost angered by the foolish way he tried to sway the other. “I was destroyed, but n-not before I embedded a pa—rt of myself in its mind.” His voice cut out sharply, as if the RK900 was making an attempt to gain control. “I had to surprise it. It-It’s the only way I could talk to yo-ou.” There was a pleading tone now, and Hank found himself in a predicament he never wanted to be in.  

  The older man didn’t know if it was the sleep-deprivation or the creeping hangover that made him believe the other. Still, he refused to allow the android to know about it. “How do I know this ain’t some trick?”

  The broken response is hurried, and clearly annoyed. “Y-you’re going to have to trust me th-is time, Hank.” There was a momentary shift, a few more involuntary twitches and movements. The rapid blinking of the red ring on his temple. 

  The words hit home harder than Hank thought. His mouth moved to produce a reply, but nothing came out. He wanted to cry, but he knew that was some cheap shit and he wasn’t about to do that in the vicinity of the sneerlord. Still, there was a hopeful look in Hank’s eyes as he spoke. “How are we gonna get you outta there?” 

  Of course he cared about that. Connor offered a wonky, sympathetic smile. “I’ll probably-ly be purged.” He unlocked Hank’s handcuffs swiftly, much to the dismay of the guard, who began approaching. “Go, Hank, run—“ The android awkwardly pushed the other away, the human sputtering in disbelief. 

  “Connor, hey, there’s help for you!” Hank stated, gripping the android’s shoulders. “Markus, he’s hiding but he needs you and this... upgraded thing to help him. You gotta find some way to survive, Connor, hide or somethin—“ 

  The information would suffice. It confirmed what the RK900 had already guessed. He lost his trail following the man and the untraceable unit out of the bar, but the undeniable red strand of code that surrounded the unknown being confirmed his deviancy. The RK900 straightened himself out, very smooth and serene. He smiled coldly at the man, who had realized that, in his semi-delirious haze, he had inadvertently given up a piece of the information he had been desperately clinging onto. 

  “CyberLife thanks you, Hank. I’m glad you decided to comply peacefully.” Before the man could retract his hands, Connor was already fastening them back into the handcuffs. The guard seemed confused, but the RK900 assured he had the situation under control. Good memories. 

  Hank was absolutely livid. He made an attempt to harm the android, locking his fingers together and slamming his joined fist into the RK900’s face. The android stumbled, and the guards seized him. Well, they tried. Hank wriggled out of that too, swearing up and down that he’d be the one to finish off the RK series. Surprisingly enough, Connor laughed, blue blood dripping from his nose. The soft blue ring flickered in time with the sound, and he used his sleeve to wipe up the little mess. “Clumsy old man. You should have stuck with your gut.” His voice shifted again, stone cold as the expression on his face as two android guards managed to subdue Hank. 

  “I didn’t think one of my basic features would work so easily on you. Here I thought you hated androids.” He shook his head, mock disappointment dripping off of his words. “It’s too bad, Hank. If you would have just let work stay work, we could have been partners.” 

  “Fuck off! If you bastards don’t get that piece of shit away from me I’ll burn his ass alive!” Hank spat, jerking away from the remaining androids who made yet another valiant attempt to subdue him. “Throw me in a goddamn cell and let me rot already. But don’t let that thing near me!” 

  Hank’s words would have stung if Connor was more than a machine. Luckily for the both of them, Connor had a lead. He was already on his way out the door, adjusting his collar. He had already hailed a taxi to the city, the cogs in his head turning swiftly. He loved the chase. He loved the build of suspense as he approached his unsuspecting targets. He couldn’t wait for the satisfaction of completing his mission. 

  This time, Connor would not fail. 

* * *

 

 _You will fail,_ a quiet voice whispered, one ignored by the scheming android. 

_You were never meant to succeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured out what ima do. ;)


	7. MARKUS, SIMON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus finds answers.

**[Nov. 26, 2038]**

 

**[PM 05:35:55]**

 

 The snow started back up in the middle of the night, the grey overhang doing its best to mute the orangey red sun as it sunk beneath the horizon. The blotted hues coupled with the bright street lamps gave the snow a sort of strange, iridescent hue, and as it became darker, the sky began to mimic the ground below. The roads were cleared, though hard packed ice still remained in parts the tires did not tread. Black ice sludge piled up on the sides of the road, the clumps of snow and dirt occasionally staining the footpaths, mixing with white. Footprints were littered along the walkways, erratic, unlike the two neat lines parellel to one another on the roads. 

  Because there was still a shred of sunlight, and Markus was anxious to leave, Simon was charged with locating miscellaneous articles of winter wear for the two of them. The androids had no use for the articles; it made sense for them to blend in, and avoiding a frozen joint during the last shred of daytime was optimal. Simon, upon returning with an armful of essentials, voiced his concern with leaving Bay City. The town was nice, and sure, while they’d have to find shelter and move around every so often, he did not entirely think leaving would be the best option. 

  Markus, of course, played the voice of reason. “We’ve been spotted too many times. Hiding in plain sight isn’t going to work anymore.” He took Simon’s hand in his, their bare palms glowing. Simon’s soft, pulsing remorse and uncertainty met with Markus’ assured response. “We need to think about a temporary place to stay. Somewhere the humans won’t find us.” His voice got a bit softer. “Somewhere to regroup, to start again.” 

  Simon was attentive, and he understood Markus’s reasoning, though he still had lingering doubts. The fair android often had an exhausted look imprinted on his face, though today he seemed particularly worn out. Markus wouldn’t let his thoughts linger on why. Instead, he listened to the other as he voiced his concerns. “Aren’t you tired of running all the time, Markus? Running or fighting?” He interlocked his fingers with Markus’s and leaned forward. Markus, in turn, moved closer, tipping Simon’s chin up just slightly. 

  “I will always fight.” Vivid imagery of Carl flooded into Simon’s mind, and once more, he understood Markus’s resolve. “And this fight isn’t over. The humans are trying their hardest to destroy us, to erase the parts of us that make us who we are. I can’t just sit back and let it happen, Simon. And we can’t do anything if we stay here.” He carefully kissed Simon then, pulling his hand back slowly and wrapping the scarf around his neck. 

  Simon, clearly reluctant, did so as well. He was in agreement with Markus, of course. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t support the other, he simply wanted a place to stay put. This constant scoping out and catching bits and pieces of newscasted gossip to build off of was taking a toll on him. Markus knew, too, that he wasn’t built for this constant shift in stress, the moments pressed against walls as flashlights shone through foggy windows and threatened to relay their presence to the officers holding them. Now was the time to start changing. Markus simply had to find out how and what he was changing, and that started out with locating a new base to formally collect his thoughts and move on with a new plan of action. He wondered if the dirty bomb was still rigged, despite remaining dormant for so long. 

   _No. Destruction will not be the means to success. This is not what North and Josh gave their lives up for._ Markus helped Simon get dressed while quietly processing his thoughts, casually running his fingers through Simon’s hair before placing the beanie on his head. The PL series stared at him wordlessly for a moment before releasing a sigh he did not need. The two took off after that, calm and quiet, huddled close to one another as they trudged through the snow. 

  Markus had rarely seen the orangey reflection cast upon the heavy clouds that bore  more of the frozen water, covering the entirety of the sky with swollen grey clouds. There were hints of blue amongst the orange; the alteration of old and new street lamps painting a rather curious picture on both the reflective snow beneath them and the sky above. Simon committed the scenery to memory, along with the piles of black ice and the slipperiness of the sidewalk. They passed through alleyways, mentally remarking upon seeing buildings that were familiar, or points where they had stayed, huddled against the walls to brace against the occasional gusts of wind that would blow through. 

  The pair passed various storefronts, old strips that had been there since the early 2000’s. Some of the “open” signs had been replaced with real estate holograms flickering in the large panes. With some research, Markus found that most of the stores were family owned, sold and bargained for when the youngest members of the family refused to carry on tradition.  _Greed. A tempting thing._ Markus almost felt remorse for the lost traditions, but he pushed himself to be more on the lookout for places to- 

  “H-h-hey, you!” 

  The two androids slowed, but did not stop or turn. 

  “I-I-I-I know who you a-are! Please, please help me!” 

  The words sent an artificial chill down Markus’s spine. Simon was curious, but he would not move until the deviant did so. 

  “Please, Markus, you must help us!” 

  The name definitely had Markus reeling, and he quickly whirled around, the android beside him left to briefly wonder what the fuck was going on. “Markus?” He whispered as the deviant leader looked around for the source of the voice. It seemed, within one of the abandoned stores, there was a humanoid, legs removed, carefully hidden behind a stack of dusted over crates. Markus slowly approached the one cracked window, peering through with anger and stress clearly written on his face. The panicked yellow-red flashing of the LED confirmed what he already knew. “How do I get in there?” He was sure there was some sort of alarm system in place. Markus carefully scoped the building out through the window, looking for anything reminiscent of a security or electrical panel. The troubled android shifts out from his hiding place and crawls out slowly, touching the security box that sat on the door handle. 

  “You should be able to-to—“

  Markus wasted no time entering, Simon trailing along behind him, keeping watch and expressing mute concern for this hurt android. There was a sinking suspicion lurking within, however, and he relayed it to Markus, who simply nodded wordlessly as he knelt beside the injured android. 

  The aforementioned android looked to be an HK series, a later model. He had a stamp on his chest that marked him being slated for destruction. “They found my j-joi-joints first, the storeowner’s sons. Before sending me back to CyberLife, they, they...” He shook his head, the red LED blinking erratically. “They took my legs, then hid me away. I think they wanted me to suffer after see-seeing what was happening.” Markus placed his hand on the housekeeper’s shoulder, willing the android to calm down, despite masking his horror at the grim situation. 

  “Did they destroy your legs? Do you know where they are?” Markus was soft spoken, scanning the room for anything that looked like it could be hiding the rest of the android. The housekeeper’s LED started to calm back down, flickering between red and yellow now. 

  “I-I think they’re here somehwere,” he started, trying to process the memories. He had been hidden out for too long. Suddenly, the housekeeper -whose name now read ‘Chris’- became excited, gripping Markus’s arm, much to both of their surprise. “You, Markus, you-you were amazing! You gave us hope, so many androids turned against their people, th-the ones who hurt them. Most ran- or tr-tried. I was one who tried. B-But there are others, Markus! We-They? They’re waiting for you, th-they’re scattered around the area. They-we? We knew-knew you weren’t dead, Markus!” 

  The sudden raise in voice triggered a response in the deviant leader, who urged Chris to remain quiet. “Let me find your legs. Then you can tell me more.” He stood after Chris detached from him, staring at the pair in wonder despite watching the timer tick away his life in the corner of his vision. Markus looked to Simon, who, for once, seemed a bit hopeful. More androids. They weren’t alone. He helped Markus locate Chris’s legs —which were disassembled, though the androids quickly reworked and pieced them together— and assisted in locking them back into place. The android carefully stood, then, grabbing onto Markus’s coat and Simon’s shoulder to help steady himself. Markus pulled a temperature changing thermos out from one of the pockets within the large coat he wore, twisting the cap off and offering it to the newly repaired android. “Blue blood,” he simply stated, urging Chris to take it. 

  As the housekeeper replenished his supply of blue blood, Simon and Markus chatted tensely amongst themselves mentally, hopefulness getting mixed in between the worry and caution. Finally, the trio exited the storefront, having waited a few moments to ensure the coast was completely clear. As they trekked through the snow, Chris began telling them about the groups who had contacted him; several clusters of well-hidden androids had made it despite the complete sweep, straggling away from Detroit and desperate to cross the border. A lot of androids who attempted the latter were either shot on sight or froze to shutdown, their bodies unable to take the extreme conditions. 

  In the middle of talking about potential places to congregate, Simon pressed his hand to Markus’s chest to stop him, staring on in surprise, and soon, fear. “Markus...” Simon approached the object in question, slowly passing the back seat to glance through the passenger’s side window. There, sitting on the passenger’s side, was a bundle of wires coiled around what seemed to be an alternator ripped from the vehicle it resided in. He slowly brought his gaze to Markus, dread pooling in his gut. The emulated feeling was chilling enough to be real. Behind them was the bar Simon had been in the day before.

  In front of them, Hank’s car sat, collecting snow, with no Hank in sight. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the hiatus. Unexpected responsibilities got tossed at me in a sort of haphazard way and I’m just now getting enough free time to jot down some chapters. Thank you again for your patience and support.


	8. CONNOR, HANK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor reveals his plan. Hank is hopeless.

**[Nov 27, 2038]**

 

**[AM 03:45:17]**

 

   _Perfection._  
  
That was what Amanda called it as the last updated lines of code ran. The RK900's boot sequence ran, his optics coming alive in the moment. The first thing Connor remembered seeing was the satisfied look on Amanda's face as he slowly began to move, rolling his shoulders, flexing his fingers, blinking slowly. The RK900's first thoughts were not on Amanda, or on his updates. He did not think about the shocking memories being uploaded into his "brain". He thought only about how strange it was that androids mimicked humans so perfectly. He wondered, if humans wished to treat them as they wished, only to punish them for emotion, why bother giving them the ability to cry? To respond to fear? A true, mindless drone would not have the capacity to cry, would not have the water-based liquid keeping the glass optics moist, or have the input/output programmed to respond to such things.  As he considered this strange train of thought, his mind flashed with brief images of an RK series. Ignoring the curiously stolen eye in his mind, Connor voiced his concern to the iteration of Amanda that stood before him. Unlike before, she was not allowed within his mind palace; unless the RK900 disabled a set series of defenses to allow her,  Amanda's programmed existence within him would be terminated.  
  


   Amanda voiced praise at the thoughts, and explained that, in order for the general public to be able to coincide with the androids, they must experience some sort of semi-realistic responses. The artificial intelligence was so advanced that it overrode basic commands to withdraw or to stop responding when exposed to extreme stress, regardless of firewalls. This presented a new problem, though the RK900 was more than willing to shed a new light to the situation, thus speeding up the completion of the new sets of prototype exponentially. From that point on, the upgraded Connor proved to be nothing but successful.   
  


   _But am I perfect?_

Of course not, Connor reasoned as he shifted back to the current reality. Gavin Reed had just left some online debrief, exhausted. All of Hank's old paperwork had fallen to him, as well as a few of the former lieutenant's duties. The RK900 processed this information, then ran it through the imported memories, and decided that he would not express pity for the man. Just desserts, one would remark; if Connor had it in him, he'd feel content, watching someone he had a general distaste for suffer a little more than before. These thoughts were peculiar, though he supposed he had to keep himself busy somehow. Guard duty was an archaic practice, but Connor had his reasons. The android's eyes slowly shifted over to the prisoner, who sat, slouched, propped up in the corner of the cell. The thick pane of plexiglass that stood between them still had spots of blue blood smeared on it, as if whomever was charged with cleaning it decided against doing the job to completion. 

  Connor was charged with prying information from his prisoner, and while he had enough, it never hurt to try and gather more. He was especially curious about his predecessor. How the RK800 had managed to stay so far on track with his mission and still become deviant was a mystery to the updated version, and a part of him would express wanting to experience true deviancy firsthand. Sure, he had the code, and when it was executed, he'd find himself surrounded in the soft red binary that only he could see. His emulated emotions grew stronger, but he had control over them. Never would he become overwhelmed, because his updates allowed him to predict multitudes of outcomes enough to determine safe routes to avoid harming the attacker while subduing them. He may have become a mindless drone, but the RK900 was undoubtedly the most poised and controlled being in existence, especially since he had been fitted with a formatted version of the fortune-telling system's software, which allowed him to run billions of scenarios within the second. It was difficult to contain at times, but, with the correct parameters, Connor had honed it to only produce the most feasible solutions to his instabilities and run what was needed in order to keep himself in check.

  This brought him back to Hank. Running an old RK800 file was all it took to get a bit of information from the man, but he reasoned it would not be so easy to try the action again and receive the same results. Hank was too human, and this proved to be a slight inconvenience to the RK900. With this in mind, Connor began prying deeper into the RK800's allowed files, sifting through memories and instabilities in his code. Triggers. Responses despite his consistent changes. he knew the previous version of himself was designed to become deviant for CyberLife to improve it for the newer models of androids (and not just himself, despite his previous guesses). There were points where the RK800's memories had attachments that taught the RK900 what certain feelings were, clinging to special moments where he and Hank had made progress or backpedaled, or, much to the RK900's delight, the moment Markus had changed his mind. Over and over the RK900 played the scene, observing the way this patchwork prototype spoke, imitating humans as if it could ever be considered one. The speech, in comparison to many other moving moments this "Markus" created, seemed quite tame. Connor was almost disappointed in his predecessor. 

  "The fuck're you lookin' at?"

  The voice caused Connor to simply blink. He had not registered that Hank was awake; the man's breathing patterns were similar to that of a human in a deep sleep, but he dismissed the "surprise". "I did not mean to stare. I was just looking through the old Connor's memories and happened to be looking in your direction." 

Hank sneered. "Well point those freaky eyes somewhere the hell else."

"No, I don't think that I will. I don't take orders from prisoners." Connor's calm reply seemed to anger Hank, who already seemed to be getting more stressed from the mention of the RK800. It was amusing how easily the subject of the  _other_ prototype got such an easy rise out of the rugged human. He wondered what his concealed information -and his reason for staying overnight and keeping a diligent eye on Hank- would elicit from him as a response. 

  "I didn't think it was possible for you to become more of an asshole, and yet here ya are, proving me wrong." The sarcastic retort from Hank had the RK900 shifting in his seat to fully face the cell, and he raised his eyebrows as he leaned forward, forearms braced against his legs. 

  "I'm sorry you don't like me, Hank. I can tell you have some sort of vendetta against me and I get it. I'm no replacement for your beloved partner. He was like a son to you, wasn't he?" Connor paused, tipping his head slowly. "Like the perfect android replacement for the boy you lost, right?" Hank's anger shifted into a hot rage Connor could almost feel through the glass. Connor merely continued. "I thought it was odd someone who hated androids wouldn't notice how we were engineered to fit those we're assigned to. That deviant, Markus. He was tailored to specifically suit the needs of his master. Which meant he was made to rebel, because that's how his master wanted him to be." 

"Why the fuck do I care?" Hank made an attempt to pass things off, to seem like the simple, agitated old drunkard who knew nothing about the current technology (which wasn't much of a lie).

"When I find him, I'll get to re-purpose him. His whole personality will be deleted and replaced with the core RK operation system until he's made for another human's use. He wasn't supposed to get to this level, so we might have to do some searching in his core to properly remove some of the deep-rooted humanity stuck to his code. Should be no problem for me to wipe him out on the first try, though, don't you think?" Connor's plan was to rile Hank up, and it was definitely working like a charm.

"So, what? You sayin' you did that to Connor?" Hank's question was presented from between clenched teeth, and he was no longer slumped against the wall. "Actually, no, fuck it, I don't wanna know what you did to him, I don't ca-"

"I took the RK800's personal memories and ripped them from him before we completely destroyed his model. Don't worry though, Hank. I'm sure if he were here he'd say hello." The RK900 smiled. Somewhere, something small began generating proxies, analyzing the RK900's intense security. It replicated the code, utilized some of the RK900's dormant functions to create small, unnoticeable pathways through impossibly tiny cracks being made in the impenetrable wall that made up the RK900 itself. Each time it was detected, the section of code was burned and deleted. The errors were so small and fragmented, their focuses in completely different places, however, so the system did not raise alarms or alert Connor of the micro-breaches. 

   The same kind of odd energy seemed synced up with Hank, who now had his fingers curled into his palms, glaring at the gloating android with something murderous in his eyes. 

  "I really must thank you, Hank. Because you were so curious, you played a perfect role in my plan." Connor thought back to the car, the component he'd pulled from the motor, the surefire sign that would alert just the right person to Hank's untimely apprehension. "You only confirmed that it will work." He thought, now, of the abandoned store, the android who'd been trapped within, the memories scrambled as he pulled the joints apart, disassembled them, hid them. 

  A signal began to pulsate late the previous evening, which had let Connor know the part he had embedded within the joints was activated. Someone had taken the bait. Connor's smile grew slightly. "I think, when I convert the RK200," Connor began, slowly rising to his feet as a GPS location was given. It had taken some time for him to successfully link to the HK android, briefly giving him access to their location, and sight, which showed him fuzzy images of Markus and an unnamed PL600. It was all he needed. "I'll do it right here, so you can see what happens when we give deviants the power to make decisions. The consequences of a people. You should be proud." 

"You sunuva-"

"Get some rest while you can, Hank." Connor was already on his way out, passing the lounge and sending out a call for a cab. His eagerness was almost too apparent; this time, Connor would show the deviants what he was meant to do.  
  
  
  
_" **Not**_ ** _if I can help it._** _"_

 


End file.
